


don't let your future be destroyed by my past

by scavengertrash



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Not 'will they-won't they' so much as 'are they-aren't they', Sibling Incest, possible incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scavengertrash/pseuds/scavengertrash
Summary: When Qi'ra dies, Han takes in the young daughter who survives her. Rey turns out to be an uncomfortable fit in the Solo house, a constant reminder of Han Solo's past, and her presence in their home strains his marriage with Leia. Though Leia doesn't blame Rey, their son does.





	1. passing

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't read the tags: this fic will contain graphic depictions of incest! Please bear this in mind as you read through it, as I won't be providing chapter-specific warnings for what's built into the premise of the fic. 
> 
> Smut will come eventually, but for now, you can just expect fucked up family dynamics.

Whenever she was about to leave for work, Rey's mother would say, "There are some parts of ourselves that we never want to be reminded of. Ignoring them doesn't make them go away, exactly, but it makes it so we can live with ourselves."

Staring down at her mother's gravestone, Rey had to wonder which parts of herself Qi'ra hadn't been able to ignore anymore that had put her to rest here. These were not the kind of thoughts that a fifteen-year-old girl ought to have, but Qi'ra had not been the kind of mother that would raise a fifteen-year-old girl who acted as they ought to. There were things her mother had been involved in, things Rey herself was aware of, that made her aware of parts of the world that most people never thought about, or if they did think about them, it was to be grateful that they were so distant and far away that none of it would ever touch them.

But despite Qi'ra's best efforts to keep Rey from any direct contact with her job, those dark elements that she was involved with _had_ touched Rey. Indirectly, yes, but early and often. She wasn't sure she'd ever get it out of her skin, no matter how hard she scrubbed. Unlike her mother, she didn't think ignoring them would help her live with it any easier.

Only three other people had come to the funeral. They came one at a time, filtering through the cemetery like the ghosts of her mother's past, here to impart lessons on young Rey.

The first was Madame Proxima, the old woman who had been their landlord and who had often babysat Rey, but who had arrived there to tell her that it fell to Rey to either take up her mother's work or clean the space out. Rey did not give her an answer then, only nodded and accepted the terms.

Han Solo arrived next, a rugged man nearing fifty, who kept his hands in his jacket pockets as he stared down at the tombstone. They stood together in silence for some time, Han and Rey, before he asked her, "How'd you know her?"

"She was my mother."

Then he looked at her. Really looked at her, for the first time. He hadn't bothered when he'd first appeared — he had merely accepted the company and fact of another mourner. Now he scrutinized every detail of her face, and seemed to settle on the fact that it was true. She was Qi'ra's child. And in that time Rey settled on something too — Han Solo had fucked her.

Some part of Rey wondered if he would fuck Rey then, too, and if she would let him.

Instead he said, "Shit."

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"If you're asking—"

"Not like that." Han scowled. "You just …" He gestured between Rey and the grave. "What about your dad?"

"Don't know him. Never did."

_Maybe it was you,_ she didn't say. Han chewed over the unspoken accusation, maybe doing his own math on when he'd last seen Qi'ra. When he'd last fucked her.

"You got somewhere to stay?" Rey nodded, but it was a lie. She just had to help Han ignore his own responsibility, and he'd go about his business, and leave her to curl up on top of the grave before her so she could demand to know why her mother had chosen work over her own daughter. Han accepted it, saying, "Good. That's good."

It sounded a lot like he was proud she'd figured it out for herself. Still he hovered there.

"I'm Han. I worked with your mom a while back."

"Okay." Rey said nothing more. People who showed up at funerals usually wanted to tell stories, but Rey didn't want to hear any. She just wanted to be left alone.

"You hungry?"

"I thought it wasn't like that."

"It's _not."_ He looked annoyed by her insistence. "But you can come by for dinner if you need something to eat."

At the very least, he had astutely determined that wherever she was supposedly staying, she would be doing it alone. Perhaps astute was too kind — there was, after all, no one else at the gravesite.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Just think about it, alright?"

Rey frowned.

"Leia — my wife — she'll have dinner ready at 7. We got a place on the corner just south of the University Park stop on the green line." He described it all without looking at her. Directions that sounded vague, but that Rey absently committed to memory. Then he said again, "Think about it."

"Okay."

Only then did he leave.

Rey didn't really plan on going. It sounded like charity, and she could never stand charity. But when it was getting dark, and rain started coming down, and she got ready to leave the cemetery because she didn't have an umbrella, a dark figure appeared beside her.

The third visitor.

He wasn't tall, but he _felt_ tall. He had tattoos on his face and neck, and teeth like a shark when he said, "You're Rey, aren't you?"

And she said, "Yes."

And he said, "I have spoken with Madame Proxima about your situation. I think Qi'ra would have liked to know her daughter followed in her footsteps. Often in times of grief, it helps to hold onto some part of the person we've lost. I can give you that, and in return, you can fill the position she left open for me."

Rey had never agreed with her mother, about ignoring parts of herself, so she said, "Fuck you." Because he was the one who'd made this happen.

He'd laughed then, and she'd left without an umbrella, furious. Furious because he was right — she did want to be close to her mother, to hold onto some piece of her, despite what a shitty mother Qi'ra had been, despite the fact that Qi'ra had chosen to die for that man instead of live for her daughter.

That was how she wound up at the corner house south of the University Park stop. It was a little green brownstone, which looked like it had been meticulously maintained, and had a historic building plaque on the front of it.

She stood out there while it rained for twenty minutes. It was past seven already. Han's offer had expired, and she was late, and they wouldn't want her there anymore. But her mother had never really wanted her there either, so at least that would be familiar.

Walking up the steps, soggy enough to hide her crying, Rey let herself into the house without knocking.

"Ben?" called a woman's voice. "Is that you? You're _late._ "

It took Rey a moment to parse the tone of voice. She sounded exasperated and concerned rather than irate. Rey didn't know who _Ben_ was. Han hadn't mentioned him. Maybe she had the wrong house.

The woman appeared in the doorway.

"Oh," she said.

"Is it him?" Han's voice came from the other room now. Then some shuffling, and he appeared too. His mouth set in a grimace.

He had not explained. Now he would have to explain, and he didn't want to.

"Shit, you're soaked."

"It's raining," Rey said stupidly. She didn't know what else to say, though.

"There's a bathroom up there." He pointed to the stairs. "Why don't you get dried off? We'll bring you some clothes in just a second."

Rey looked between them, wary, but nodded and turned to march up the stairs. She could hear their hushed whispers spark up even before she touched the landing. The first room she opened was not a bathroom, but a bedroom. A man's, by the look of it. Or maybe a boy's. It was filled with posters of rock musicians and dark clothing. She stepped into it, wandering through the space like a ghost.

If she tried very hard, she could imagine herself here. A child in this home instead of an intruder. Han was inept, yes, but Leia seemed nice. Perplexed, maybe, but she'd worried about whoever Ben was, and it was apparent he was spending less and less time here.

Rey would have spent time here.

And she did, apparently. More than she intended, because she missed the sound of greetings downstairs or something, and instead was interrupted by a man's voice behind her asking, "What are you doing here?"

She should have whipped around. She should have been scared, but she wasn't. She continued picking through his closet, looking at his clothes, dripping on his floor.

"Are you Ben?"

"Yes." He sounded impatient. "Why are you here?"

"My mother died."

"Lucky you," he replied callously, and for no reason other than how unexpected and absurd his reaction was, Rey actually laughed. It was airy and fragmented. She looked back at him then.

He was huge — towering, filling the door frame and blotting out the light with his dark hair and his dark clothes and his darkly shadowed face, which was cast in all sorts of darkness because of how aquiline his features were. And he was older than her, but by how much, she couldn't tell. In college, maybe. Or just out of it.

"I'm here for dinner. Han told me to get cleaned up. I need to borrow clothes."

"Nothing of mine will fit you."

"Obviously." She took a shirt off a hanger anyway. Challenging him, maybe, to see what he'd do. The answer was nothing. She walked to his drawers then, pulling them open one by one, skipping past his underwear until she found sleeping pants with a drawstring. She pulled those out too.

"I need to shower. You can't use my bathroom."

"That's fine."

She passed him and went down the hall. When she shut the bathroom door, she distantly heard more shouting, but she drowned it out by turning on the hot water. It did nothing to wash away the numbness, as she had hoped it might, but it did bring on a fresh deluge of tears for her mother. Just as quickly, it washed them away.

She toweled off and rolled Ben's pants up to cuff around her knees and tightened them around her waist and wore nothing under his pants or his shirt as she came downstairs. She left her wet clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and came down into the dining room.

A tense silence greeted her. Tense silence, and a series of boxes from a local place that served fried chicken.

"Oh good," said Leia. "You found some clothes."

"There are a lot of rooms in this house," Rey observed. She looked down at the table and added after some hesitation, "Take out."

"Leia doesn't cook," Han offered. He'd made it sound like she did earlier.

His wife shot him a narrow look, lips pursed. Rey said nothing, but settled down at the table, pulling her wet hair over her shoulder so it dripped onto Ben's shirt instead of onto the soft seat of the chair. It looked expensive.

"Han told us what happened."

Ben was already sitting across the table from her, working on his food. Rey decided to join him, grabbing a piece of chicken and peeling the bones apart. It felt good to destroy something, so she sunk her teeth in. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you need." Not 'want,' Rey observed silently as she continued to pick the chicken apart with her teeth. "We can make up a bed for you."

"Don't have to decide now," Han said.

They had a child. They already had a child, and as much as she wanted to imagine herself fitting in here, she was an intruder on that. Ben was older, yes — somewhere in his twenties if she had to guess — but it wasn't like that meant he wanted to see his parents raise someone else. He obviously disliked her.

But Rey thought of the man in the cemetery, and even though she could see the same dour expression in Ben's eyes as he sat across from her, she could see better in Han and Leia. She didn't lose herself in thinking about it.

"Please." She nodded, looking between them. "I want to stay here."


	2. Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey settles in and finds her place amidst the Organa household, which isn't what she'd expected it to be.

As they settled into a routine, Rey learned about each of them.

Ben had recently returned home from some prestigious university overseas that he'd been attending. He'd been expelled—or almost expelled, anyway, but for the hasty action on his mother's part to withdraw him—but no one would say what he'd done. His disdain for Rey, as it turned out, was not exceptional compared to his disdain for anyone else.

The worst seemed directed at his father. More than once he insinuated that Rey could 'have him,' which only made the barest sort of sense, for according to Han, he had known Qi'ra before he'd ever met Leia, when they were very young, and Qi'ra had not had Rey until later in life.

"I didn't even know she had a kid," she overheard Han defending himself to Leia one night.

Poor Leia had it worst off, with all this vitriol flying around. Rey wanted to support her, lend her some kind of compassion, but Leia did not seem able to accept it from her. And why should she be? Rey was not a part of her family — she was a part of a life that Han had apparently left behind to start a life with Leia instead, and now his skeletons were spilling out of the closet.

Except for the fact that Leia, too, was seldom home, she was nothing like Qi'ra.

For starters, she made time to drive Rey by Madame Proxima's to pick up her belongings. She did not come upstairs, but assured Rey that she would wait in the car and drive her back. Rey had never met anyone who owned a car before except for Madame Proxima, who never used it, so she wasn't going to question. She had no idea where anyone parked in this city, and while Han drove an old piece of junk Falcon, Leia drove a TIE model-S. Better not to be the reason it got stolen, in addition to the other woman's child.

But when Rey got out of the car, she heard the locks slam shut, and she had to wonder if it was ever about parking, or if she had just seen the dingy front of the building and given up. Some part of her expected to be kept out of the car when she returned, or for Leia to be gone, but she was sitting there, back straight, all perfect manners, and the door was unlocked before Rey ever approached it.

She only had her backpack and the one box. The lid hung open, so she could stack things.

"That everything?" Leia asked skeptically.

Rey nodded. Some part of her felt empty for all she'd left behind to let Madame Proxima clear out, but it wasn't worth anything anyway, and there was nothing else to move it in. Rey had her backpack full of clothes, and Qi'ra had never been terribly sentimental. One box was plenty.

"You read?" Leia reached over into the box and pulled out the book on top. It was _Great Expectations._ Her copy was battered down to its bones. "Was this for school?"

"No. It's for me."

Leia dropped the book back into the box and pulled her hand back. Rey pulled the box closer to her chest in the passenger seat.

"Good book," Leia said.

Rey might have asked, 'Have you read it?' Or, 'What's your favorite part?' But instead she just nodded and sat in silence. Because Leia didn't ask those questions either, Rey didn't have to feel bad for her lack of effort.

 

* * *

 

One day, after her first day back at school, Rey sat on the hood of the old Falcon at Han's garage, staring out at her new foster father working on his motorbike, and she told him, "You never should have brought me here."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Leia doesn't like that you did it. Because you love my mother." Rey didn't dance around the point, the way Leia did. It was all over in the pauses. The way she'd almost reach out for Rey, offer her some kindness, and then clam up. Sometimes when Rey was trying to help her around the house, Leia wouldn't even look at her. "But my mother's dead. She doesn't care that you're looking after me."

"That's not the point."

"And Leia's alive."

He put down his wrench and sat up to look at her, a frown tugging at his mouth.

"She's worried that I remind you of her."

It was a foul insinuation, and not the first time she'd made it. Han just rolled his eyes and laid back down. Rey felt desperate justify his care for her, link it onto some justification other than kindness and compassion because those weren't things she was used to seeing, especially not directed at her.

Maybe some part of her wanted to keep hearing him dismiss it. Just in case.

"You should start calling her 'Mom,'" Han suggested.

"Will that make her feel better?"

"Can't hurt."

Despite her conscientiousness of Leia's fears, Rey spent most of her free time after school in Han's garage. She was sixteen, so she could work the cashier. Han paid her under the table, ten dollars an hour. It was nice because Ben never showed up there. In fact, whenever he could, he seemed to avoid the house altogether.

One day, though, Ben brought his mother's car by for repairs. He saw Rey exchanging money at the desk and threatened to call child services.

"Shut up," Han said. "I asked you to work here when you were her age."

"I'm your son."

"And she's your sister."

Rey stuck her tongue out at him, even as Ben said, "Half sister, maybe."

Han didn't react, just took the keys to the model-S from Ben.

He'd been fixated on this lately. The half-sibling thing. Sometimes it felt like he thought he had unlocked some dark family secret that justified the way he hated his parent, but he had twisted it into directing all kinds of unwelcome scrutiny at Rey. Easier to fixate on her than on his own fucked up life.

"Aren't you going back to college soon? Your half-sister gets half the stuff you leave behind," Rey declared.

"That's not how it works."

She wouldn't know how it works.

She didn't think of him that way. It was hard to try, actually. To some extent, thinking of Ben as her brother meant giving up Qi'ra as her mother, and Rey wasn't ready to do that. She'd never been a very good mother, true, but she'd been _Rey's._ Leia wasn't, even if some part of Rey wishes that she was.

 

* * *

 

 

Han and Leia were arguing in their bedroom. They thought because it was on the third floor of their brownstone, that Rey and Ben wouldn't hear them, but Rey was parked at the kitchen table doing her trigonometry homework. Before she'd come to stay with the Organas, no one had ever checked her homework. Now she went to a new school, and her homework mattered, and she had to complete it in sight.

One night, she'd tried to get away without it because Han had said he was going out for beers with Lando, but he'd come home early and looked at every problem.

"You don't even know if it's right," Rey had complained.

But Han mussed her hair and said, "I'll know."

"Sure."

That time, she'd almost said, 'Sure, Dad.' But Leia came in, and she'd shaken his head away instead. When Leia was home, no one ever hovered. But she knew Han would figure it out if she weren't doing it at the table, so she did it anyway.

Ben was lying on the couch, avoiding his bedroom because the shouting was louder there. He was singing along to some Radiohead song under his breath, drumming out the rhythm on his laptop. Rey slammed her pencil down.

"Would you _stop that_?"

"What?"

"I can't focus."

He came into the kitchen, and Rey sat up a little straighter, pulling her book closer. She didn't like to be alone with Ben if she could help it. He had those probing dark eyes, like he could see her very soul. Worse, he was so fixated on her. Like every problem in his life was her fault, even though it was Ben's expulsion they were arguing about this time—not Rey. That was why Ben had to stay down here to avoid it.

"What was your mother to him?"

"This again?" Rey picked her pencil back up like she meant to ignore him. The sound of the fridge opening stole her attention back, though, as he pulled out a Guinness and popped the top off. He had started college and even gotten expelled, but he still wasn't old enough to drink. Disgust crinkled her nose.

"What do you think they fought about?"

Rey snorted because it was hard to imagine Qi'ra bothering to fight with anybody about anything, let alone Han. He was so coarse, so different from what Qi'ra tried to project. Then again, she could have said the same of Leia. Neither woman had much in common with him that she could see, except that Han knew what being poor and desperate was like, and Qi'ra at least had that going for her.

Or she'd had it going for her before she was dead.

So really, she hadn't had much going for her at all.

"I think they worked together," Rey said it like it was a clarification, hoping it would drive him from the room. Instead, Ben turned the chair across from her around and straddled it, resting one of his arms across the chair back. The way he looked at her was like bugs crawling under her skin. "That's what Han said."

"Leia doesn't believe him."

That was a point Rey didn't want to entertain. It would be nice, wouldn't it? For Han to be her father. That would be simple and easy and she liked to imagine it sometimes, but she could never fully accept it. Something about it just wouldn't settle in.

Maybe it was Ben. She always preferred to think of this as her family when he wasn't around. Or … maybe it was the things he'd say: that Leia would never _really_ be able to accept her because she'd always be wondering if maybe Rey was Han's daughter after all.

So she dodged and asked, "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"You should call her 'Mom.'"

"So should you."

"I had a mother," Rey insisted. "But she's actually yours."

" _Mom_ doesn't believe him. That's why they fight all the time."

He didn't say 'my mom.' Just 'Mom.' Like they shared her. And he said it snidely, like he didn't mean it, and he was only humoring her so she'd stop sidestepping his point.

"That's not my fault." Rey's voice was small and tight. "She should trust him."

"Do you?" He set down his beer and got to his feet. Some time during their conversation, he emptied the bottle. He drank fast. Just one of those things you learned in college.

"I'm trying to do my homework."

And not making much headway. He disregarded her defense and came around the table to loom over her.

"You could be my half-sister. Same eyes," he told her. "Same mouth."

He reached up then to brush his thumb across her lips. No one had ever been that close to her before, touched her like that. Panic clenched around her lungs, squeezing the air from them, and she froze. She never would have thought she'd freeze.

"Stop that." She told him in a frigid voice, cracking with her discomfort. "You shouldn't—"

"Why? According to you, we're not related. You're just borrowing my parents because you don't have your own."

The reasoning sounded so simplistic that she had to wonder what he was up to, what issues he'd decided to work out on her. When she'd met Han, she'd thought maybe she'd seen a glimpse of what a normal family would be like, but she was beginning to think it was just as fucked up as hers had been.

It almost made Rey miss her mother.

He planted his other hand on top of her math book and leaned in real close. That same fear climbed further, up into her throat, and on impulse, she stabbed her pencil into his hand.

He recoiled without coming any closer.

"What the fuck did you do that for?"

"Pervert," she hissed, snatching up her book. He hadn't meant it, had barely done anything, but she levied that accusation anyway. More than anything, she was tired of being his punching bag—someone he could kick while he was down to make himself feel better, goad for a reaction to get out of his own head. "I'm going upstairs to finish my work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Is Han actually Rey's dad?

**Author's Note:**

> I know, you're like "why are you starting a new WIP instead of working on what you already need to finish, Tifa." To which I say you're right but I can't help myself. I promise that I'm still working on 'like a spinebarrel,' 'the long walk home,' and 'the true hungers of our time.' But none of them have incest, so here we are.
> 
> Please comment with your thoughts and feelings about the family tension here! I wanna make sure I satisfy people's expectations as I continue to write.


End file.
